The Rose from the Gates of Death
by DudeLooksLikeALady
Summary: Mithrim, Murtagh, and Antuin struggle to find a place in the Empire... Secret alliances form and romances delelop among Galbatorix's darker cast of rivals. MurtaghxOC
1. Twice Betrayed

Mithrim backed up against the stone wall. What happened to the Antuin she knew? He took two steps toward her then stopped.

"Du Mithrim Abr Helgrind. The Rose from the Gates of Death," he smirked, "Fits well, does it not? Only... I think that the edges of the Rose's petals have been blackened."

Mithrm glared at Antuin, but then gathered herself and smirked back, "I think that you have been born weak. Better to be black at the edges than weak at the core." He simply smiled and advanced towards her, "Whatever you're doing... it's not good for you. I'll help you. Come with me." Mithrim laughed.

"Please. Lying is a sin, you know."

"Oh? Well, I was telling the truth. You're the one who lies and kills without mercy. My goal is to spare all. I'm not weak; I'm just not evil. But you... you're no better than Galbatorix."

Mithrim shook her head and explained, "I...am...nothing...like...Galbatorix. I don't kill those who help me nor those who don't bother me. I only...get rid of those who...get in the way. Even then only when their a real threat," she paused, gathering courage, "...One who is a minor threat may escape unscathed, one who is so-so may be taught a lesson...subtlety, of course. Death is saved as a last resort for the major threats and even then it must be executed gracefully like the art it is..."

Antuin raised his eyebrows, "Would you kill me?" Once again Mithrim smirked, "Remember what I said about your being weak. Well, let's just say you'll never be a major threat." Antuin narrowed his eyes, "Would I be a major threat if I didn't let you go?"

"Hmpf. You wouldn't be a threat at all," she spat, "Just as minor...very minor annoyance."

With that Mithrim unsheathed her sword and ran to the window praying that she would make it. She jumped through and found herself in a dank, narrow alley. Quickly, she turned to the right and made her way through the dark and dusty mazes that were the streets of Helgrind. It was still light outside even if it was rather a pale and sickly red so she stayed in the shadows of the smaller roads. Wait. What was that? Mithrim froze. She flattened herself against a building. _Is Antuin following me?_ Mithrim frowned. _I didn't think he would be that quick. _After waiting a few more minutes, she advanced from her hiding place. It had to be sake now. Mithrim rounded the corner and then...

"You have been arrested by Royal Command."

What!? 6 guards from the capital were there and holding a piece of parchment that was signed by...Mithrim squinted...

Murtagh.

_That fickle, two-faced... I should have stayed with Antuin. He would have been easier, much easier to manipulate. _Mithrim sighed, stepped forward, and allowed the soldiers to seize her.


	2. Journey to the Capital

Mithrim soon found herself tied and gagged on the back of a horse that was surrounded by a small group of soldiers all trotting along in the middle of nowhere. _Go figure. I mean, one would think that Galbatorix's soldiers had better things to do._ Mithrim sighed. _But sadly for me they don't._ She shivered in the cold evening air, Well, there was no way she was escaping so she might as well face the facts that she was going on a little trip to Uru'baen. _Might as well settle in for the trip._

Several hours later or so Mithrim thought, they stopped for the night. It was almost pitch black and there wasn't a sound to be heard except for the rustle of the bushes as they walked past them, There wasn't even a slight breeze. The only movement was that of seven horses, six men, and one girl.

Once the soldiers found a clearing, they settled down in a small circle with Mithrim off to one side. As she lay on the ground all she could see was a bush on her left and the clearing and some dark lumps that were her captors on the right. Deciding not to think of the next day, Mithrumc closed her eys and slept.

The next morning was extremely uneventful. Mithrim thought she would die from the heat, the monotony, and not being able to move. Finally, though, she saw something in the distance. She heard on of the soldiers mutter, "Almost there." So they were close to the capital. Home of Galbatorix and his minions. Not that Mithrim really cared. After all, she'd been there before. Mostly, she was just curious about what would happen to her. And, of course, there was Murtagh. She got angry when she thought of him. How dare he do this? After what he had promised? Then again it was confusing because she felt that understood perfectly._ We have a lot in common. Ours minds work the same way... Wait! Did I just think that?_ As they drew towards the city, Mithrim both dreaded and (much to her dismay) anticipated her meeting with Murtagh.

Mithrim fluttered her eyes open. They was a guard in front of her undoing the bonds around her feet. When he had finished, he shoved her forward rudely. "Time to move, miss," the guard said in a gruff voice, "We're going to walk the rest of the way"

They were inside the city. Form where she stood, Mithrim could see the somber monolith that was Galbatorix's stronghold. She was glad her legs were finally free, but unfortunately they had left her arms bound. _Might as well make the most of what I got._ She relished stretching her limbs as she kept pace with the guards. Almost laughing, she recalled the last time, she had been this close to Galbatorix's men. Ouickly sobering, Mithrim also remembered that that was the first and only time she had encountered Murtagh.


	3. When Mithrim Met Murtagh

**Okay, everyone. Just let you know this is Mithrim having a flashback about when she met Murtagh.**

_Mithrim was walking along the streets of the capital when she spotted two royal guards puzzling over the back of a merchant's wooden stall. Trying to see for herself, Mithrim crept up behind them. After seeing the cause of the guards' confusion, she almost laughed aloud, Side by side, nailed to the back of th stall were two pieces of parchment. One was Empire issued propaganda that spoke ill of the Varden and glorified Galbatorix saying that he had brought about the "Golden Age of Men." The other had probably been pit up by some bold rebel in the dead of night. It talked of defying the Empire and expanding Surda and of the abominable high taxes forced on the people._

_The guards began to take the second poster down. They weren't used to this sort of thing since men who defined Galbatorix outside of Surda and the Varden were few and far between. Mithrim grabbed a guards wrist. "Leave it up. It'll make people think. Sort of like a brain exercise. Got your rusty clockwork moving a bit, didn't it?" The fist guard stood shocked, but the second frowned, "Get out of the way it'll be prison time for you, missy."_

"_Ooh. Good job. Very convincing. Wait. Shouldn't I be retreating quietly into the throng now. Or better yet: running for my life while my poor heart beats uncontrollably from the fear you triggered in my very depths."_

"_You wench," the guard sputtered. He turned turned to the first and said, "Danton, say something."_

"_Uhhhhh...taaa...waaaahhhh...muh," Danton managed. Mithrim tsked, "Dear, dear. You'll really have to work on that stuttering problem. It can be a real annoyance. Especially this distinguished you have working for the king."_

"_...why you..." Just then a small crowd started to form to get a glimse of the crazy girl defying the guards. "Back off!", the second guard yelled. Mithrim sprang into action, "Don't Don't back off! Think for yourself!" You have a right! A right to know what's going on! And I'll tell you! There's some ut there with more courage then..."_

"_What's going on?"_

_Mithrim whipped around. Surronded by small knot of guards and standing before her was a young man with dark hair wearing a black cloak. For some reason, Mithrim wrapped her own cloak of the same color around her. The man looked directly at her and questioned, "Who are you?" It was a question, but it didn't have a questioning air about it. Instead, there was one of a command. There was no way to beat around the bush when someone like him spoke like that. Mithrim opened her mouth and nothing came out. _

"_Ha! Look can't talk now?! Huh?," guard #1 taunted. Murtagh turned on him and growled, "Shut up!"_


	4. Hallways, Lords, Scuffling, and Rats

**This is my first fanfic so I would like to thank everyone that has commented on my story so far. And thanks to Brainiac5 who inspired me to start writing fan fiction. **

"_Ha! Look can't talk now?! Huh?," guard #1 taunted. Murtagh turned on him and growled, "Shut up!" _

_Yes, this was Murtagh. T__he famed Murtagh, second dragonrider and king's right hand man._

"_Now who are you?," Murtagh asked again as he turned. _

"_Mithrim"_

"_And you're the one making trouble for my soldiers?"_

"_Yes, sir ."_

"_I see. Well, nothing will happen to you. You don't need to worry , but remember that others may not be so forgiving."_

_Yeah, right. Nothing would happen to her. _Mithrim sniffed as the guard led her through the city. _Won't trust what he says again. _

"This way," the guard as pulled her sharply around a corner. They were taking one of the lesser known routes to the castle that consisted of twisting and turning alley ways on the far east side of the city.

When they reached the castle, the guard made way to pair of wooden gates on the far side.

"Prisoner for Lord Murtagh." The guard at the entrance looked them up and down suspiciously.

Finally:

"You may pass." The gates opened, hinges creaking as if they hadn't been opened in years.

"Forward," the guard growled, whacking her in the back. Mithrim walked. On the other side of those ominous gates was on even more ominous hallway. It was entirely made of stone with a curved ceiling and torches on either side to light their path. It was an eerie place with damp floors and a scent of mold that hung in the air.

The tunnel (for it was more of a tunnel than a hall) turned to the right. Mithrim and the king's man walked 50 more meters before turning abruptly to the right once more. Mithrim was pulled under an archway that led into a room with vaulted ceilings. It was still rather damp and the walls and floors were still made of rough stone, but ,at least, it wasn't the dungeon Mithrim was expecting. _But maybe their saving that for later. _

The guard disposed of her in the middle of the room and made her sit on her knees. He quickly bound her feet once more and then pulled a rope that most likely had a bell attached to it in some other part of the castle.

Seconds flew. Minutes passed. It all felt like hours. Then there came the noise of scuffling. _Surely not Murtagh. _Mithrim thought. She smirked_. He was the last person she expected to scuffle. _Suddenly, someone appeared at the door way. No, not Murtagh for he didn't scuffle. It was a servant or messenger of some sort with a bent back that probably came from years of service to demanding masters.

"Lord Murtagh is coming." _Ah! What complicated business! The guard rang the bell that called a servant that told the Lord and the servant that told the guard. The lord would come and have the prisoner handed to the guards that took the prisoner to the prison and a servant was sent to inform the king and the king sent a servant to inform the lord that he knew. Those darned servants must be scurrying about this mausoleum non stop._ Mithrim thought. Not that she was surprised, but this was the first time she got to see it all in action.

Then another noise came from the tunnel hall way. This person wasn't scuffling. The noise stopped. Mithrim turned her head to see a figure in the arch way. When the "figure" saw her, "it" smiled. And not in a nice way either. The "figure" or Murtagh if you must (since you've probably figured out who it was) made way to the center of the room. He was dressed in all black and his hair was slightly scruffy.

The color of his skin might be considered sickly on some, but not on him.

When he was right in front of her, Murtagh looked down. Mithrim looked at the ground examining the cracks in the stone, but she could still feel his gaze on her. After a while, he turned to the guard and said, "Leave us."

"Are you sure, my Lord? She's rather vicious."

"We'll see. Now leave us."

"Yes, sir." Mithrim shivered as the guard left.

"Why am I here?," she asked between gritted teeth.

"Why? Because after that incident next to the stall, those guards you heckled were transferred to Helgrind. When they caught sight of you there, they told all the other guards and everyone made sure to keep a close eye on you. Its appears they observed you sneaking around around dark alleys at odd hours. Naturally, due to your previous behavior, they found this suspicious. That explain anything?"

Mithrim nodded as she daydreamed of doing terrible things to those rats (her new name for guards). Funny the way things turned. At least she was somewhere where Antuin couldn't follow. Unless, he got on the bad side of the law. Mithrim sniffed. Considering his new defiant attitude, that shouldn't be too hard.


	5. Apprenticed

**I'd like to thank me amazzzing beta, Brainiac5 for editing this chappie. **

**Disclaimer: Excuse me, do I look anything like Christopher Paulini?! Do I, people?! Hmmmmm?! No...no...that's what I thought... Smart move, peeps.**

"It's not my fault you're here," Murtagh continued. "When it was determined you would be arrested, I decided to take charge of the whole matter." Mithrim looked up with a steely glint in her grey eyes.

"I believe you had an ulterior motive."

Murtagh smiled, "I have not even gotten to the first motive and I already have an ulterior motive? Well, if you insist, I do have more than one incentive. Perhaps, even more than two. I'll leave you to ponder over them. Once you find those, you can start figuring out which one is the primary and which are ulterior ones. But are even you shrewd enough to deduce all that?

"Well, I should probably get to the point now. Yes, you will be staying in the dungeon. So you will have plenty of time to think over my motives." So it was the dungeons after all. Mithrim knew she shouldn't have anticipated anything less. The Empire wasn't kind to those that defied them. Not that she expected them to be. An absolute monarchy of this nature wouldn't survive long with leniency. They just had to claim they showed mercy since they would crumble to pieces if they actually did. Ah! "Might makes right" had its adversities… After all, it was basically survival of the fittest. And what happens when someone is much fitter than everyone else? _Well, Galbatorix_. Truly, it was much worse than divine right since the monarch was actually the strongest, most cunning, and discerning of them all. Ah, well... _But the next generation is shaping rivals… _

Murtagh turned away from her, "Guard! Escort the lady to the cell."

_The Empire would have to crumble from the inside…Galbatorix knows this…And if I were to get my way the Varden would have to dissolve as well. If the first power falls, the second rises to the occasion. This is true in more than one way_, Mithrim thought, glancing at Murtagh.

_The dungeons aren't all that bad. _Mithrim contemplated as she sat in a damp, cold pit of darkness. Her back was cramped form leaning against the hard, unyielding wall and her body was covered in goosebumps on account of the frigid temperature. _Okay, they're appalling, but haven't I always been a pessimist? After all, like Murtagh said, I have time to think. And at least I'm not running away from anything like I always do. _That thought made Mithrim feel just a little bit better for a moment_. _Till she realized..._ Fool, the reason you're here is that you failed miserably at running away! _

She lay down on the hard stone floor. Positioning so she had a view of the door, Mithrim analyzed her options for escape. After a few minutes, she realized that the easiest method of getting away would be either to look worthless and make them wonder why they bothered with her in the first place… or to make them believe she was valuable _and_ on their side. She smiled. _Well, not exactly the most brilliant of plans, but perhaps the only one that will allow me freedom without being an object of their scrutiny. _With that she fell asleep, one hand shunning the world and the other grasping thin air.

_Winding down the dark, narrow road, Mithrim felt unsure if she was doing the right thing. Going back to Helgrind, resurrecting what she left behind, renewing certain acquaintances… it did not seem like the best idea. But she did have a job to do and even if this was not the easiest route, it was certainly the most effective. Shadows extended, crisscrossing along the paths as she walked right through them, admiring the beauty of the forest at night. Her feet were destined to follow the path that her heart was set against. Sometimes you have to choose between the lesser of a tangled mass of evils… of which she might be considered one…_

Mithrim arose, startled. She'd had a strange dream. Although she couldn't remember it, she did remember that it was directly relevant to what was to come. It nagged her at the fringes of her conscience, but her core was focused on her plans for escape.

A guard entered her cell with his head bowed, looking at his feet like a nervous dog. From his mumbling, Mithrim was able to gather that he was supposed to escort her somewhere. Mithrim stood and brushed herself off. After all, she did not need to look like she spent the night in a miserable cell. Well, she had, but that was beside the point. She was led back into those dark corridors that offered no escape. Walking swiftly, to keep up with the guard's long strides, Mithrim continued to observe the unvaried surroundings. Stone above, stone below, stone all around…

Directly ahead of her, a wooden set of doors appeared. She was ushered inside as the guard quickly exited. She glanced around the small room with detached interest. The walls and floor were, unsurprisingly, made of stone.

Swords of various makes were displayed on the walls, and a mahogany desk was positioned in the center of the room. Sitting comfortably in a high back chair was Murtagh.

He was relaxed, leaning back with his chin resting on the palm of his hand. His dark hair was scruffy and falling sloppily on this forehead. His ivory skin glowed despite the sickly grey shadows under his eyes. His full lips neither smiled nor frowned. Looking down, Mithrim noted that he was wearing full rider gear: leather vest and boots, loose dark cotton blouse, and a black cloak hooked with thick silver chain.

"Were the dungeons pleasing to you?"

"I had time to think, sir."

Leaning forward and smiling, Murtagh studied her. _He wants to make me nervous. But we can't let that happen , now can we?_

Mithrim smirked, "You know, you are growing stronger every day. Ever consider a coup d'etat? You are in a very convenient location…right next to the king"

"Mithrim… I am dedicated to my king. His laws are my laws. However, you are bringing up an interesting fact. The throne at present is virtually for the taking, And regardless of what the Vardan may assume, that miscreant, Eragon, isn't the only one in the running."

"Indeed, he is not," Mithrim granted, laughing quietly, "I can think of a dozen who might qualify as his running mates including some who allegedly support him."

"You understand that you yourself are on that list."

"Well, Murtagh…..I'll only confess if you do."

"I am dedicated to my king."

"As I am dedicated to you?" she asked scornfully.

"Hopefully, much more so than that… But that does bring me to my point. In an effort to keep the Empire in tact, I, as a representative of His Majesty, Galbatorix, am asking you for your allegiance."

"Am I, a nobody, suddenly such a key player that the Emperor should desire my allegiance?"

"Despite your being a common citizen and unknown in the Empire, several incidences have drawn you to our attention."

"And every so often that tiny hidden force is the most dangerous."

"Exactly…especially when hidden in the heart of the people."

"So you are kindly removing that force and putting it to your own use?"

"Let's not put it that way….let's think of it as a sort of apprenticeship."

"What is this apprentice to learn then?"

"That people with skills such as hers should not waste their time rabble rousing…"

Mithrim looked at the ground, teeth clenched. She sincrely hated that image of herself. Rabble rouser….

"Mithrim?"

She looked up, but didn't look him in the eye. Her ego had been given a blow. She was defeated.

"Do you accept?"

"Yes……"


	6. Reflection & Remorse

Perhaps in his mind, she had simply risen to a challenge and not succumbed to defeat. Now, though, Mithrim chose to look at it as neither. This was simply an act to ensure her safety. Thinking on it afterwards, she decided that this so called apprenticeship (God knows what it actually was) put her in a very convenient position: in Uru'baen, heart of the Empire. Truly, the perfect place to reach her ultimate goal: to bring an end to that pervasive, pulsating heartbeat.

Mithrim bowed her head. At least, her bed was much more comfortable, she thought as she reposed on the goose feather mattress in her new and much more welcoming room. It wasn't exactly luxurious, but you had to be thankful for what you had...

Looking at the bright side, there was decent vanity in the far right corner in the room. Indeed, it held all possible beauty essentials and inessentials in its vast drawers. It had been a long, long time since she'd done primping of any sort and her face hadn't seen cosmetic paints in ages.

She looked in the mirror...she looked tired and her tan skin looked abnormally pale. All her grown life she been trying to remove those ugly grey bags underneath her eyes. No matter what new-fangled beauty product she purchased, be it special creams or that horrid herbal paste, the weary look never left her appearance. Perhaps, it was her thoughts reflected on her features in the same way her likeness was reflected in the mirror before her. Perhaps, it was her outlook and her tendency to find the darker side of things.

Sighing and looking down at her boot toes, Mithrim stood up and slowly began to change. Her clothing was dusty and sweaty and they made her feel disagreeable. But as Antuin would say teasingly, "I don't notice a difference. Aren't you always this way?" She'd then punch him in the arm and tell him what an arrogant prat he was and that he didn't deserve her company. Sometimes, Antuin would laugh and jokingly give her a little hug and other times when he was feeling downcast he would tell her that if he didn't deserve her company, no one did. She'd be better off by herself after all. Then he would get up and leave her by herself in some dusty alley in the middle of Helgrind. She wouldn't cry like most girls her age or run after him and tell him she didn't really mean it and that she was truly sorry. Certainly not. Mithrim sat there and told herself that someday when she became that person she dreamed of being... she would be able to laugh along with him and they could really be friends. Because then _she _would deserve his company.

Antuin had been her best friend in her childhood, even though their relation had been quite an odd one. They had always been trying to annoy each other and constantly trying to outdo one another. Mithrim had been above average in all possible ways as a youth. She'd been intelligent, cunning, creative, fast, skilled in swordsmanship and archery. She had even been considered pretty. Only, she hadn't seen herself as any of that...she had seen herself as nothing bought failure. She pursued perfection only to reap (in her mind) the fruits of mediocrity. Bitterness ensued.

She now saw herself for what she was... She had possibilities...possibilities for greatness. Her confidence had allowed her achieve even more. But she hadn't yet seemed to notice the few major flaws that were bold scratches on a cold, immaculate surface.

She had not seen Antuin in long time, though. And their brief reunion two day ago had not been gratifying. Why had he treated her so? She had missed him…apparently he had not missed her. Never mind. From now on, he wouldn't be remembered as friend. He was simply a rival and she was the stronger of them. She was not hurt…not at all.

Mithrim let out another heart-wrenching sigh and walked to the forgotten vanity. Her finger slowly traced her mirrored self. Then if all was going her way…

Why was she so disconcerted?


End file.
